


Must be magic...

by von_gikkingen



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-27 03:10:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20038942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/von_gikkingen/pseuds/von_gikkingen
Summary: “Quentin... Why did I just spent five minutes getting you out of an actual suit of armour…?”“Because you wanted to?”“Well… you’re not wrong,” I admit. “But seriously, what the fuck is up with this cosplay?”





	Must be magic...

He almost looked the part, that was the weirdest thing.

I knew him for the guy I’ve been bringing his coffee and have been ignored by for almost a year and still I could almost see some kind of a too-good-to-be-true hero. And it would be lovely if we had something like that again, making us feel safe in our suddenly too complicated world. But this wasn’t that kind of story because Quentin Beck was _not_ that kind of a man.

There was no mystery to him, not as far as I was concerned.

That being said I was pleasantly surprised to see what I found when I got him out of that ridiculous armor. I really couldn’t deny that. 

Neither could I postpone saying this for much longer and so I just make myself break off the kiss so I can get out the words and… “There’s something you should know…”

“Yes?” he says, immediately taking his hands away. Because who wants to hear _those_ words from someone they’re currently trying to get out of their little black dress…?

“I know you’re not a wizard from an alternate Earth,” I say, biting down on a smile.

“You sure about that…?” he says, his hand tracing its way up my thigh.

“Pretty sure.”

There is something in the way I say it that gets his attention and he looks into my face and… I can see the exact moment he recognizes me. His eyes go wide and… “Hi, Quentin,” I say, getting on my tiptoes to briefly brush my lips against his, because I couldn’t stop myself if I tried. There is something adorable about all that incomprehension.

“But… but you…”

“But I go out of my way not to look anywhere as hot as this,” I say, taking a step back so he can take in the view. Because out of my usual ensemble of slightly too big clothes I look very different. The form-fitting dress isn’t all of it. The makeup makes a lot of difference too, enhancing the fact I possess the kind of perfect porcelain beauty once associated with geisha's. And he never saw me like that before tonight. 

Well, never saw me period. He was always so absorbed in his work that I might as well have been invisible. Pretty sure he never managed to learn my name before I got reassigned to a different project.

“So… _why_ are you pretending to be magic?” I say just to give him a question to answer. Just to give him an excuse to stop staring at me with this kind of utter disbelief which, frankly, made me a little uncomfortable all of a sudden.

It wasn’t as though _I _was magic. I just knew how to downplay my looks because for the most part I simply didn’t feel like using them for the asset they were. And this was exactly why. The fact that he was too busy admiring my figure to hear that I asked him a question. And I really didn’t like to generalize but… _men_.

“Quentin,” I say, snapping my fingers to get his attention. “_Why_ did I just spent five minutes getting you out of an actual suit of armor…?”

“Because you wanted to?” he says and says it so hopefully that I just have to chuckle.

“Well… you’re not wrong,” I admit. “But seriously, what the fuck is up with this… _cosplay_…?” I finish vaguely.

“I _really_ can’t talk about that.”

“Because…?”

“Because,” he says, taking a step and obliterating the distance between us, “I have better things to do right now.”

And I’d protest, I would, because finding out really feels like something I should prioritize. But maybe he’ll be more talkative once things get going. That is the lie I tell myself, anyway. That I’m being smart here. That it has nothing at all to do with the fact he finally found the zip of my dress and pulled it downward in one swift motion and the dress now lies pooled around my ankles and…

“That armour is a bit much, isn’t it?” I hear him say, later, when we’re on the bed and he can just about spare a moment to get the words out before getting his lips otherwise occupied.

“No,” I say, shuddering a little when his fingers slide inside me. “It really works for you…”

“Is _that _why this is happening?” 

“It’s happening because I want it to be happening,” I tell him, the sentence trailing off into a moan because, god, maybe he _is_ magic.

“Just now or did you always…?”

“Do you really want to know?” I say and hate that he stopped doing what he’s been doing, his fingers withdrawing as his eyes find mine. And how the hell am I supposed to answer that question? “Do you really want to know that if you just bothered to look at me, just once, I’d…”

“Yes?” he says, holding his breath in anticipation of the answer.

“I’d fuck you senseless right there in the lab,” I say, feeling no embarrassment about my phrasing because sadly that _is_ the truth and to put it any differently would feel like lying. 

"Right in the lab?" he repeats, amused.

"Yep."

“The lab whose doors definitely didn’t lock…?”

“I wouldn’t have cared.”

He’s silent for a long second, just studying my face and I can’t begin to imagine the thoughts running through his head but I _can_ tell he finds me beautiful because most men do whenever I do less than perfect job of hiding it.

Because there is a symmetry to my features and that really is all it takes, technically speaking. I’ve been through the science on the subject. I’ve read the relevant research to be able to hide in plain sight because being attractive – being _seen_ as attractive – wasn’t all it was cracked up to be and I felt I was better off not having to deal with everything that accident of genetics saddled me with. Because when you’re beautiful you’re a beautiful _object _to so many and…

And I didn’t want to think about that, not right now because this was one of those times when I really didn’t mind. This was when I chose to use what I got to get something I wanted. And I didn’t want this strained silence. I didn’t want him to look at me with regret. What I wanted was…

Feeling a smile tug at my lips I just reach my hand for what I want, run my fingers over the hardness of it and… And he clearly didn’t expect that.

“Time to work your magic,” I tell him and he laughs and he probably has no idea but there’s no greater turn on for me than a man who can laugh in a moment like this. Who can take a stupid remark like this and laugh at it instead of getting offended that I’m not taking this seriously enough.

“You sure you can take it?” he says, parting my thighs with and his touch is just a little on the rough side but, oh, I do _not _mind.

And I just grin at him because there’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?

It's a fair question, though, because what I feel, what just thrust inside me, feels like it's definitely well above average and suddenly I’m not entirely sure…

But the movement is already taking away my ability to think and so I just relax into it and soon even the trace of discomfort disappears. Instead this becomes the best thing that happened to me in a _long _while and I would tell him as much, but... My ability to form sentences becomes a little impaired as his thrusts become harder and I can just about manage to bite on my lip to keep the sounds escaping me from growing any louder. Which is not what normally happens and I really don’t know how much more of this I can take. Or how is he managing not to complain about the scratchmarks my nails are leaving on his back. 

“Can you do something for me…?”

“I am _not _calling you Mysterio,” I reply before I can think better off it and then he’s laughing and because he’s laughing he stops moving and I really wish I considered that before I opened my mouth. Because, dammit, I was so close…

“I was just wondering if we could…”

“Different position?” I guess, nodding already. A touch too enthusiastically perhaps but he probably guessed that he has the upper hand by now. That I’d do anything he says.

He just smiles and leans down to kiss me and he’s thorough about it, his tongue making me forget just how much I mind that I can no longer feel him inside me.

At least he’s not taking too long to fix that. And it’s somehow even better now that I’m on my hands and knees. Feeling his hands settle on my breasts I don’t bother trying to suppress the moan. I want him to know what he’s doing to me. And, god, I want him to do it harder…

Minutes go by and I can’t really think, can’t really do anything but dig my fingers into the bedsheets as he thrusts deeper and deeper. And then he suddenly takes me by the shoulders and pulls me upright, pressing his face against the side of my neck as I lean into him. And that is enough. That is all I needed. “Oh, god,” I whisper, hoarsely, even as he continues to move because he’s not quite there yet himself. “Maybe you _are _magic…”

He sinks his teeth into my shoulder, and it’s more playful than painful and then his hands settle over my breasts again and it doesn’t take long after that. Soon it’s over and I feel warm wetness running down my thigh and…

“You might be a little magic yourself,” he whispers into my ear, caressing my nipple before he lets go.

I was definitely going to ask him a question right about now, I vaguely remember.

I really wanted to know why would someone with his kind of brilliant mind choose to dress up and play the superhero, but… Well, I had some other questions answered. Questions that seemed a lot more important right now. Sore and exhausted and _very_ satisfied I felt like I knew exactly what he was capable of. And that was the kind of thought I could drift off to sleep on without much regret.


End file.
